To my Worthy Friend Mr. Peter Lilly :on that excellent Picture of his Majesty, andthe Duke Of Yorke, drawne by him at
Hampton-Court.

SEE ! what a clouded Majesty ! and eyes
Whose glory through their mist doth brighter rise !
See ! what an humble bravery doth shine,
And griefe triumphant breaking through each line
How it commands the face ! so sweet a scorne
Never did happy misery adorne !
So sacred a contempt, that others show
To this, (oth' height of all the wheele) below ;
That mightiest Monarchs by this shaded booke
May coppy out their proudest, richest looke.
Whilst the true Eaglet this quick luster spies,
And by his Sun's enlightens his owne eyes ;
He cares his cares, his burthen feeles, then streight
Joyes that so lightly he can beare such weight ;
Whilst either eithers passion doth borrow,
And both doe grieve the same victorious sorrow.
These, my best Lilly with so bold a spirit
And soft a grace, as if thou didst inherit
For that time all their greatnesse, and didst draw
With those brave eyes your Royal Sitters saw.
Not as of old, when a rough hand did speake
A strong Aspect, and a faire face, a weake ;
When only a black beard cried Villaine, and
By Hieroglyphicks we could understand ;
When Chrystall typified in a white spot,
And the bright Ruby was but one red blot ;
Thou dost the things Orientally the same
Not only paintst its colour, but its Flame :Thou sorrow canst designe without a teare,
And with the Man his very Hope or Feare ;So that th' amazed world shall henceforth finde
None but my Lilly ever drew a Minde.